The Randy Romance Novelist

  “That’s not a trend, that’s a staple in this community,” Myrtle laughed.

  Betty spoke up over the other ladies’ chatter. “A trend would be something you see authors do often within their stories.”

  “For instance, everyone’s hero has a beard right now,” Sally stated. “Full, thick beards.”

  “There was also a lot of step-brother love last year,” Sue said.

  “Step-brother love?” I asked, not having ever read a book about a step-brother.

  “Oh, yes, very popular. Hmm, billionaires are always popular with the ladies. I mean, who doesn’t like a rich man being brought down to his knees by a woman?”

  Wendy fanned her face, causing a ripple within her wolf fleece. “I sure enjoy a good billionaire.”

  “Remember when you used to be able to slap a half-naked cowboy on the front of your book and sell thousands of copies?” Myrtle asked. “I miss the good old cowboy.”

  “I’ve read some cowboy books,” I said, joining in. “They were really good. I always liked the scenes where the heroine is whisked off to the barn to have a roll in the hay.”

  All the ladies giggled around me, making me feel at home. “Everyone loves a good barn sex scene. I believe I’ve written at least ten in my day,” Sally said. “I rode that trend out for as long as I could. Maybe in the future I will revisit the stables. Maybe a BDSM version, since that’s all the rage now. Think of the rope possibilities.”

  “Oh, Christian Grey gone cowboy, I like it,” Myrtle replied. “Instead of a tie on the cover, a lasso and a spur. I think you have yourself an idea there, Sally.”

  “And none of you biddies better steal it. You hear me?” Sally pointed her finger at all of us. I nodded, fearing her sharp nail stabbing me in the jugular.

  “Tell us, Rosie, what are you working on?” Betty asked me, drawing the attention away from Sally’s death finger.

  I cleared my throat, trying to relax my nerves. “Well, I started writing a book that took place in medieval times, but realized I wasn’t really good with chastity belts, so I tried writing something from the heart. It’s kind of an ode to my current relationship.”

  “How sweet,” Sally replied. “Did you bring some pages for us to read?”

  “I did,” I nodded, pulling out my folder from my purse, making sure my penis pictures didn’t pop out for everyone to see. Although, I was pretty sure these ladies wouldn’t even blink twice if a giant sparkly dildo fell out of my purse. I handed each of them a copy of the pages I’d printed out and waited as they took their time to read them. “Um, I think I’m going to get a drink while you read.”

  No one acknowledged me. They just read, so I got out of my seat and headed to the self-serve coffee in the corner. While my cup filled, I looked over my shoulder to see what their reactions were, but couldn’t get an accurate read, so I finished filling my cup, added cream and sugar, and then headed back to the table.

  By the time I was back, they were all done. They sat in silence and watched me while I took my seat. No one had actually read my written word before besides myself, so I was truly terrified to hear what they had to say.

  I set my coffee cup on the table and waited for their assessment.

  “Is this your first book?” Sally started out.

  “It is,” I replied, trying to calm my shaking legs.

  They nodded their heads before Myrtle said, “I could tell.”

  My heart dropped to the floor.

  “It seemed very childish in nature. The main character, from what I could gather, sounded very naïve in the fact that she didn’t know simple sexual terms. She’s a virgin?”

  I nodded, not able to speak from the lump forming in my throat.

  “A twenty-something-year-old virgin who went through college with two sexually active roommates is referring to her vagina as a lady garden; it’s not realistic. No one talks like that in their twenties. I’m afraid readers are going to be upset over Meghan naming her vagina, as well as the main character not even knowing about things like masturbation or the basic act of sex. It’s almost too comical, but in a bad way. There’s humor, Rosie, and then there is forced humor.”

  “I agree,” Sue jumped on board. “In order to gather a reader’s attention, you have to make the character relatable, not some clown wandering around her apartment unaware of anything sexual. This girl is young, living in New York City with her two roommates, trying to write a novel when she’s never had sex before? It’s not feasible.”

  I wanted to cry. I could feel the tears starting to form, my lip started to shake, I felt like I was going to throw up from humiliation. This was not how I envisioned this meeting going.

  “Is this supposed to be a comedy?” Wendy asked. I nodded again, still not able to talk. She thought about my answer for a second, and then said, “I liked it. I thought the character, Meghan, was very relatable. I think sometimes, as readers, we get caught up in a stereotype of what we think heroines have to be made of, of who we expect them to be, when in fact, there are thousands upon thousands of different characteristics we, as authors, get to choose from. I think the heroine is unique, different, naïve—but in a good, refreshing kind of way. I think there are a lot of readers that could relate to her inner dialogue and struggles. Not everyone out there in the dating pool is sexually active, or automatically given God’s gift to sex. As authors, it’s our job to explore every different idiosyncrasy of the human form, even if that character might not relate to every reader. Nine out of ten times, the reader might not be able to relate, but there is that one reader, that shy, quirky book nerd who could appreciate a character like Meghan; someone who has a passion for reading, who’s lost themselves in the written word, and who’s inexperienced. I think you did a great job, Rosie. Don’t follow the trends. Be your own person and reach out to those fellow book nerds like me, because you will touch hearts with this character, I promise.”

  Wolf Shirt Wendy just became my new favorite person.

  For the rest of the meeting, we talked about upcoming releases, works in progress, and our next meeting. After we adjourned, Wolf Shirt Wendy pulled me to the side and told me to hold my head up high. She said I was doing a great job and to email her if I needed any help. She slipped me her business card and said she would love to read the rest of my manuscript when I was ready.

  I wasn’t sure if I would be attending another meeting, but what I did know was I, found a soulmate in Wolf Shirt Wendy. She gave me that little boost of encouragement I needed to finish my book.

  ***

  “There’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” Henry said, as I approached him. He straightened up from leaning against a brick building and held out his arm to capture me in a hug. “Mmm, I missed you, love. How was the meeting?”

  “Devastating at first, but then it all evened out in the end.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed Henry on the lips.

  “What do you mean devastating? Were they mean about your book?”

  “Yeah, four out of five of them didn’t like it.”

  “Seriously?” Henry was genuinely shocked; it was adorable. “Whose tits do I have to cut off? Give me addresses. No one tells my girl her book isn’t good.”

  He started to shake he was so mad. I calmed him down by pressing another kiss against his lips. “Calm down; it’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay. Who do these ladies think they are, picking apart your book? They don’t know you; they don’t know where your words are coming from. They have no right to make you feel bad about your work.”

  I laughed and kissed him again. “Henry, if I’m going to be an author, there are going to be readers who don’t like my books. You’re going to have to be okay with that.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I will never be okay with people making you feel bad.”

  I sighed at his inability to settle himself down. “I love you.”

  He studied me for a second and then wrapped his arms around me, kissing the top of my h
ead. “I love you too, Rosie, but that doesn’t mean I still don’t want to chop some tits off.”

  “You’re impossible.” We started walking toward the adult book store, hand in hand. “There was one lady who was super nice, though. Her name is Wendy, and she wore a fleece sweater with wolves on it.”

  “I like her already,” Henry laughed.

  “She stuck up for me in front of everyone, told them my character was unique and refreshing. She gave me her business card to email her if I have any questions.”

  “That was nice of her. You should email her a thank you.”

  “Already thought about doing that. So, how was your day?”

  Henry just shrugged his shoulders, not expanding into detail about his day. There was something he wasn’t telling me. I tried to not let it bother me, but we always told each other everything, so slowly his inability to disclose what’s been going on at his job was starting to eat me alive.

  “That good, huh?” I asked, trying to get him to talk a little bit more.

  “Yeah, pretty much. I have to work late tomorrow,” was all he said before he changed the subject. “So, how about we go to the sex shop first and then grab a slice of pizza to eat on the way home? That work for my girl?”

  “Sounds good to me,” I smiled up at him, trying to not show my disappointment in his evasiveness.

  On the way to the sex shop, we held hands and talked about what Henry had planned for Derk’s bachelor party. Derk wanted to keep it low-key, nothing fancy, just his guys, some pizza, and poker. I asked Henry if he planned on getting a stripper, and he said Derk didn’t care for one, but he was adamant about having some nice cigars.

  “Clearly, Derk isn’t as high maintenance as Delaney,” I laughed.

  “Not so much. I’m a little upset about it.”

  “Why? Do you want a stripper at the party? Do you want boobies in your face?”

  Henry laughed and shook his head, then drew my hand up to his lips and gently kissed me. “Why would I need boobies in my face when yours practically live there?”

  “They don’t live there,” I scoffed.

  “Okay,” he replied sarcastically. “I’m upset about the bachelor party because I was hoping to make some boobie cupcakes, you know how I love baking and all.”

  “You’re such a liar.”

  “I am,” he laughed. “But, seriously, I kind of wish I got to take him out to our old stomping grounds, reminisce a bit. In all honesty, I think he’s keeping it low-key so Delaney can go out, that way, when she gets home, he will be ready to take care of her.”

  “Makes sense. They could do their parties on different nights,” I suggested.

  “They could, but Derk doesn’t seem interested. I would do the same thing for you, you know.”

  A tiny little flutter burned up my spine. Henry was talking about our bachelor/bachelorette parties, which only meant he considered marrying me. The mere thought of marrying Henry almost seemed impossible.

  “You’ve thought about that?” I asked.

  A small piece of regret flashed through his face before he put on a giant smile. “Don’t you?”

  His question sounded slightly insecure, as if he was nervous about my answer.

  “I mean, I guess so.” I didn’t want to throw all my crazy girl feelings at him all in one shot. Have I ever thought about marrying Henry? Well, not really, since I always considered him my friend, and ever since we’ve become a couple, I hadn’t really thought about anything other than sex with him. Did that make me a bad person?

  I maybe had minor notions of what it might be like to settle down with Henry—not that I was a giant hussy walking the streets, looking for a pimp to hook me up. I was just too nervous to even think of such a thing as marriage with Henry, because I was still very confused by the fact that he was mine.

  I was insecure, very, very insecure. Ever since I’d known Henry, he’d been a ladies’ man; he could get any girl he wanted. During college, when I was in the library studying, he was out partying. He would bring home a new girl almost every night, while I was still trying to figure out how to use my vagina to the best of my abilities. I never really thought my handsome, sexy, and preppy best friend would end up with the likes of me; the nerdy, inexperienced bookworm.

  I guess I was just waiting for something to happen, something like Henry waking up and realizing he was too good for me.

  “What are you thinking about over there?” Henry asked.

  “Nothing,” I lied.

  Knowing me too well, he stopped our walk and made me face him. “There is a crinkle between your eyes; you’re worrying about something. What is it? And don’t lie to me, or else I will make you go in one of the jiz booths at the adult store.”

  “Jiz booths?” I asked. “What are those?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. What’s going on, love?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Sometimes it just seems too good to be true. You’re too good to be true. I’m waiting for something to happen. For someone to come along and steal you away from me.”

  Henry lifted my chin so I had to look directly into his sweet and caring eyes. “Are you insane?” He laughed and then pulled me into a hug. “Rosie, you’re everything to me, fucking everything. We are meant to be together. I promise you that. Now stop having crazy thoughts; you’re stuck with me, love. Whether you like it or not. Got it?”

  “Yeah,” I answered, feeling all gooey on the inside.

  “Let’s get going. I’m starving, and we still have to go shopping for penis paraphernalia. Do you even know what you’re getting?”

  We continued our walk down the sidewalk, passing honking taxis, people on their cell phones, and cute shops that I made mental notes to take a look at later. “Not really. I have my checklist. I guess I’m just supposed to get anything with a penis on it. Should be a good time.”

  “Yeah, real good time,” Henry said sarcastically.

  Chapter Seven

  Penis Emporium

  ROSIE

  It smelled weird, like really weird. Like rotten cheese on a recently washed down sidewalk kind of weird.

  When we first walked into the sex shop, I was a little excited to see what might be in stock, given my newfound enjoyment of the male form, but the minute I sniffed in the musty, humid air of the place, I wanted to leave immediately.

  “Why does it smell like that?” I asked, burying my face into Henry’s side to soak in his cologne.

  “Latex, plastic, and jiz, what did you expect?”

  “Ew, that is not what I’m smelling right now.” I looked around and leaned into Henry some more, so the shop owner didn’t hear me. “It does not smell like semen in here.”

  Henry pointed to a black curtain off to the side. “Remember the jiz booths I talked about?” I nodded. “Back there, love.”

  “How do you know this?” I gasped. “Oh, my God, have you been in one before? Ew, Henry, getting it off in public is so beneath you.”

  A full-on belly laugh took over Henry’s body, and I couldn’t help but watch his Adam’s apple fall in rhythm with his laughter. The way his shoulders shook and flexed under his simple white button up caused a warm sensation to take place within my stomach. I wanted him . . . again . . . in a sex shop.

  “Rosie, you think so highly of me.” He shook his head. “I have been in one.”

  Check that, I didn’t want him anymore.

  “Gross, Henry!”

  “Not because I wanted to,” he added quickly. “I was with a couple of friends and they dared me to go in one, sit down, and watch a video.”

  “Why would you do that? Did you touch yourself?”

  “No,” he chuckled. “I didn’t touch myself. It smelled so much like soured spunk I nearly threw up, but once I got out, I was a cool one-hundred dollars richer. Joke was on them because they paid for my beer for a couple of days in college. It all worked out.”

  “Except for the fact that you went into a porn booth.”

&n
bsp; “Eh,” he passed it off. “Chalk it up to life experiences. Do you want to see what it looks like?”

  “No,” I replied right away, disgusted with the suggestion.

  I looked over at the curtain. Even though I didn’t want to go near one of the booths, I had to admit, I was mildly curious to see what it looked like.

  Henry must have picked up on my curiosity, because after observing me for a few moments, he asked, “You want to see, don’t you?”

  I bit my lip as I weighed my options. Research is an important thing when it comes to writing a book. As an author, you want to be accurate in your descriptions, you want to make sure anything you type out will make sense to the readers. Therefore, if I ever write about a porn booth, then I have to see one, right?

  “I think maybe, for research, it might be beneficial just to see what one could possibly look like, but I swear, if you push me near it, I will break up with you so hard, you won’t be able to catch your breath before I snap your penis in half.”

  “Whoa, don’t want a broken penis. I’ll keep my distance.”

  Henry guided me to the velvet curtain that hid the booths. I took a deep breath, and allowed him to take my hand and propel me into the dimly lit space. I didn’t really know what to expect when I crossed the velvet curtain threshold but was shocked when I took in the surroundings. There was music playing in the background, cheap elevator music. The walls were black and the doors to the booths were red, all marked off by a number. Sex paraphernalia hung from the ceiling. Surrounding the walls and in the center of the floor were trash cans, lots and lots of trash cans.

  “What is with the garbage cans?” I whispered to Henry, hearing a random grunt here and there. They really needed to turn up the elevator music a little bit more in this joint.

  Henry quirked his eyebrow at me. “What do you think they are for?”

  “Umm . . . no food or drinks in the booth?”

  Henry shook his head, then made a motion near his crotch, as if he was jacking himself off and then spooged everywhere. “Cum has to go somewhere, love.”

  Oh. My. God!